


Of Acorns and Memories

by Mistress_Hatter (Midnight_Raine)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Acorn Feels, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:21:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Raine/pseuds/Mistress_Hatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before Bilbo leaves, he decide to pay a visit to an old friend</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Acorns and Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Acorn Day!!!

_Years pass, memories fade_

_Yet yours is the only memory that stays_

_No matter what, no matter when_

_It’s you,_

_Only you_

 

                Bilbo ambled out of his hobbit hole for the first time in weeks and it took everyone by surprise.  Hobbits whispered and chattered as the old Baggins made his way down to the party tree. The business of the Hobbit’s eleventy first birthday had kept the town buzzing, and they gathered that Bilbo wanted to check the grounds where the party will be held.

 

                                “G’evening Mr. Baggins!” someone greeted. Bilbo raised a hand in response.

                                “The preparations are almost done, Mr. Bilbo. Tomorrow, we will be putting up the tents and setting up the tables.” The one in charge reported.

                                “Good. That’s good.” Bilbo grinned, he then looked around, noting the number of Hobbits around.

                                “I see lots have been done. Why don’t we call it a night? We’ll have a busy day tomorrow and a good night’s rest will do the boys a lot of good.”

 

                Bilbo waited for the clearing to clear up. He walked around, pretending to inspect something here and there, throwing an occasional remark of disdain or approval for a good measure. When all were gone, he took another sweep of the surroundings, then heaved a deep breath.

 

                                “Just you and me now, old friend.” He muttered, placing a hand on the bark of the party tree.

~~~

_If it were up to me, I’ll hold you close_

_I will never let you go_

_For it was you who took my hand_

_And led me to see a world I had never known_

 

                Bilbo sat  down under the shade of the tree. He had noticed it while he was smoking with Gandalf and somehow, the tree called to him. And now that he sat beneath it, his mind started wandering: off from the Shire and towards halls of stone. He pulled out his pipe and started smoking. He leaned against the trunk and looked up, the sky was clear and he saw many stares through the branches. He sighed again.

 

                                “I guess this will be the last time we’ll be seeing other.” He said softly to no one in particular.

                                “Tomorrow I’ll be off. Off to one last journey.” Bilbo chuckled.

                               “I’m so sorry to leave you behind. But there isn’t a way to make you come with me right?” his laugh was dry, devoid of humor.

                                “Besides, he wanted you to grow. Here.” His voice broke. Scenes from Ravenhill flashed before his eyes, making them water.

~~~

_But now you sleep, cradled by the stars_

_And there is no way I can take you back_

_You left me here, but we had no choice_

_For this is Fate and nothing more_

 

                Bilbo puffed smoke rings and watch them float and subsequently disappear. He ran through the list of the things he will be needing for the journey tomorrow and was satisfied that he had packed them all. All of it, remnants of his unexpected journey.

                All of it, are memories of him.

                The wind sang and the leaves of the oak tree swayed and dance. Bilbo looked up again at the leaves, hypnotized by their movements. He remembered how once he climbed up a great tree in Mirkwood to try and see the way out. Remembered clambering up pine trees in trying to avoid wargs, or marveling at the great trees where the elves reside. He sighed in contentment. He had seen much in his long life, beauty, madness, death, sadness. Not all of it was nice, but he’s thankful. Thankful for everything that happened to him.

                                ‘Thorin..’ the name suddenly popped up in his mind.

                Well, not everything.

~~~

_If only I can bring you back_

_Or if I can turn back time_

_I’d have it so that you’ll be here_

_For living with only your memory is hard to bear_

 

                Bilbo remembered: Taking back Erebor, Thorin’s descent into madness, the war, Thorin rising up and leading the dwarf armies. The race to Ravenhill. The eagles…

 

                                “The Eagles, they’re here…” he remembered whispering to Thorin’s dead body more than half a century ago.

 

                He remembered the hope that was slowly fading away, and his heart shattering into a million pieces.

 

                                “Go back to your books, your armchair…” even in the throes of death Thorin managed to smile, even his voice carried a tinge of playfulness, fondness.

 

                He remembered how that voice sent blows to his heart.

 

                                “Plant your trees…” Once again, Bilbo leaned against the oak tree

                                “watch them grow.”

~~~

_Do you see me now?_

_For I still see you_

_Everywhere I go, I see your face_

_Everything for me is a memory of our time together_

_A memory that never goes away_

 

                Bilbo felt his chest tightening and he’s sure it’s not from old age. He grunted and stood up, stared once more at the sky, remembered that the elves hold highly the light of the stars. Memories, Tauriel had told him once, after the battle. The stars hold memories and sends them back as light, as a guide.

                                “Are you there?” he whispered. But he heard not the raspy voice of an old hobbit, but the voice of the Burglar.

                                “Thorin.” The voice was whispered like a prayer, and this time he heard both his current and younger voice, as if imploring the heavens for a miracle.

                He waited, but only the wind answered, and once again the leaves of the oak tree danced.

 

_No matter how many years pass,_

_Even if all my memories should fade_

_I know in my heart that you’ll be there_

_For you are the one I hold most dear_

                                ‘You’ve brought all this way.’ In his mind, he heard Thorin’s voice. Again, the leaves rustled.

                                ‘Thank you.’ A voice whispered as the leaves rustled with another gust of wind.

 

                Bilbo Looked up, the sky was littered with glittering stars, and the leaves of the trees seem to absorb the light and glow. He took another look at the tree, then leaned forward so that his forehead rested on the trunk. He waited for the wind, not knowing what to expect.

                And the wind came.

                The heavens blew across the fields of the Shire in a  cold breeze.

                And the leaves sang.

                                ‘Thank you for remembering.’

                The voice was distinct, unmistakable. Bilbo closed his eyes and cried.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's not yet acorn anniversary, but I was tumblr rollin' and saw that post about people still not getting over the acorn scene and BotfA even though it's been eight months and I realize that I'm one of them so I decided to write a little something. 
> 
> I feel really bad about having to end it like that but well, I can't think of how to end it. Please don't kill me *hides*.
> 
> Hope you like this! I'm planning something else, but maybe along these kind of fic for the actual Acorn day (it's Dec 18 for my country I think, the time BotFA was released and I gladly preferred it over our office Christmas party).
> 
> Thanks for putting up with my craziness!


End file.
